From Hamish
by HisAsgardianAngel
Summary: John, having issues coming to terms with his love for Sherlock, ends up in an unhappy marriage with Mary. His pride and joy, their son Hamish, becomes the apple of even Sherlock's eye as tension between him and John grows. Will John leave Mary and finally claim his soulmate, or will death wedge itself between them forever? Mpreg, Parentlock
1. The Strange Day

It was like any other day at 221B, save for the fact that Sherlock Holmes seemed to be in an impeccable mood. It really was too bad that John wasn't around to see it, as he had left early that morning for the job he seemed to keep forgetting he had. Sherlock couldn't put his finger on it, but he felt generally good today, and his day only brightened when he turned on the television around noon. Breaking BBC News was flashing across the top of the screen, and regular one o'clock broadcaster, Sophie Raworth, was looking grim as she reported a triple homicide not too awfully far from Baker Street. Sherlock didn't hesitate to grab his phone.

_John! Come home, things have happened. –SH_

It wasn't long before he received a worried message back, to which he rolled his eyes.

_Why are you alright? Please tell me you didn't set fire to the bathroom again…you're lucky Mrs. Hudson is too nice to throw us out. –JW _

_Don't be silly, John, I can't set the bathroom on fire without matches, which you have rudely hidden from me. Though I have a strong inclination that you hide them under your mattress where you've been known to hide various other things you seem to not want me to see. Judging you for the Asian porn by the way. –SH _

There was a long wait this time and Sherlock smiled happily to himself, knowing he had riled his short companion up.

_Stay out of my bedroom! –JW _

_No, now come home! You'll have more fun with me than at that boring job of yours anyway. –SH_

_Not until you tell me why. –JW _

_Murder, John, why else? It's a good day to be us, there are three bodies! Close to home too. –SH _

_You're a disturbed man, Sherlock. –JW _

_…__you love me. –SH _

John didn't know how to respond to that last message. With everybody lately telling him he was gay he really didn't want to think about the possible implications behind the text. Knowing Sherlock it didn't mean anything, not anything like what John was thinking, but then again Sherlock was a complicated man. He grabbed his coat and clocked out, walking out to his car thinking about everything that had happened since he'd met his flat-mate. John knew, of course, deep down in his heart that he had some sort of feelings, intense feelings, for his friend. But the doctor simply refused to acknowledge that they were anything more than best friend sort of feelings. John Watson was stubborn, and nobody knew that more than the very person who was eagerly awaiting his return home. He had barely opened the door before he was bombarded with questions.

"What took you so long? You never wrote me back…never mind that though, put on a warmer coat its cold. Scarf or no scarf?" It was a good thing John had grown accustomed to Sherlock's fits of word vomit.

"Sorry I'm late, not sorry I didn't answer that text, stop coddling me, and yes, wear the scarf, it's chilly." He said back just as fast, changing his coat even though he had pretended to be annoyed at his friend's suggestion. Sherlock wrapped his blue scarf around his neck quickly and reached for John's arm as he opened their door. John didn't really think anything of it until they made it to the car, receiving an odd look from one of the passersby. He wiggled out of Sherlock's grasp.

"People are going to talk." He muttered, climbing into the car and earning a tired look from his friend. Sherlock didn't say anything, but honestly the amount of which John cared about what people thought was truly annoying. They drove to the crime scene in silence, and Sherlock's mood deflated just a bit, though it didn't dampen his eagerness to see the bodies once they arrived.

When they entered the shabby building that was located only about six or so blocks from their flat, they each looked around curiously. Lestrade should have been there, the police should have been there, but the place seemed absolutely desolate.

"Sherlock…are you sure we have the right address?" Goosebumps were crawling up John's arms and he felt himself unconsciously backing toward the door.

"We're at the right place, look." Sherlock didn't ask, simply took John's hand and pulled him in the direction of the first body. It was that of a woman, mid-twenties from what Sherlock could deduce, twice married, no children but incredibly stressed which suggested a life a business…a pretty average woman.

"Hmm…" Sherlock placed his fingers under his chin, wondering how she could have ended up hanging from her ceiling fan.

"What did you do…husband did it maybe?" John normally would have asked what made him think that, absolutely loving to hear him ramble about everything he could tell by just looking at a person, he found it utterly adorable. But today he was too fixated on what was staring him in the eye on the other side of the room, nausea coming over him like a wave.

"S-Sherlock…" The detective turned to see what his comrade was shakily pointing too, not quite as phased by what he saw but curious nonetheless. The two other victims, laying dismembered and hardly recognizable, were troubling to Sherlock.

"No…there is the husband. This is interesting indeed." He said as he rubbed his chin, attempting to analyze the victims, though they were mainly too mangled to get an awful lot of information. One seemed to be the husband, just as stressed as the hanging woman, but he had a child, a teenage child from the looks of it, and only married once. The other victim he assumed was said child. Sherlock opened his mouth to give his new theory but shut it again, hearing sirens closing in on the house.

"Finally. They really shouldn't be late to their own crime scene." John turned to Sherlock, his forehead creased with worry.

"Shouldn't they already have been here if this was on the tele?" Sherlock kicked himself, having not taken the time to think about that…but it was already too late.

"It was on the tele because I called it in to a journalist instead of the police. I wanted the world to know what I'd done." Said a twisting, insane voice from behind them. It was a female voice, and it made Sherlock grin.

"Knew it! Mistress, that was my second guess!" John shot Sherlock a hard glare, wishing his friend wouldn't make a habit of saying things to piss off psychos. They both turned around to see an older woman, wide glossy eyes and what seemed like a permanent smile on her face.

"Oh sure, mistress they call me. I was supposed to be with him, you know, his child was mine! He promised….he promised…" That was all she could say before Lestrade and his team burst through the door. She let out a wild cackle and slit her throat with the knife she had been holding, her body hitting the floor with a thump as the officers piled in and pulled out their weapons.

"Well…that escaladed quickly." Sherlock mused to himself, earning another sour look from John, though he couldn't quite hold it as he was overcome by the urge to dry heave at the very thought of the situation he found himself in. John didn't object when Sherlock wrapped his arms around him and urged him away from the woman's body, knowing there were just some things his partner would always be sensitive about. He walked the shorter man outside and grabbed him a shock blanket, pulling it over his shoulders.

"Thanks…but I don't think the blanket was necessary." John said with a small laugh, trying to relieve some of the weird tension that had been between them recently. Sherlock gently patted John's cheek.

"You're a good man, John." He said softly, to which John shook his head.

"So are you you know, when you want to be." They sat their awkwardly for a moment before either of them finally spoke, which wasn't unusual for them, though this time felt different. The entire day had been a strange one, and neither man couldn't really say why.

"Do you want dinner?" Sherlock finally asked, John nearly choking he was so surprised.

"Are you seriously hungry?" Sherlock just sort of smirked and shrugged his shoulders.

"Not particularly, but if you are we can go somewhere, since we're out. I've been bored all day and this was a bust." John's eyebrows rose playfully.

"You call that a bust?" Sherlock nodded and sighed heavily, his boredom from earlier returning.

"Well duh, I didn't get to solve anything. It's no fun when they kill themselves." John burst into laughter at this.

"As I said earlier, you are a disturbed man, Sherlock." Sherlock laughed too and took John's arm once more, heading back towards their car.

"So are you, when you want to be." He said with a wink, earning a bright flush from the other man. It pleased Sherlock when John didn't retort back with a complaint about people accusing them of what was true, so pleased in fact, that he really did buy John dinner.

However, the complacent mood that had settled over the two of them did not last, and things became tense once more when they returned to their apartment. Things weren't so bad at first, Sherlock going to play his violin and John sitting down with his laptop to update his blog. But the more John listened to him play, the more infatuated he seemed to become with the gorgeous song he heard, and later, he would truly regret opening his mouth.

"Sherlock…that song, what is it?" It came from an innocent place, it did, but Sherlock didn't want to answer. He remained quiet, an uneasiness coming over him as he continued to play the song, looking out the window so he wouldn't be able to see John's face.

"Hello? Sherlock, are you alright?" Sherlock closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and deciding it was best to tell him instead of being evasive.

"Ode to John." John tilted his head to the side, unsure if he'd heard him properly.

"Sorry?" Sherlock ceased his playing and sat down his bow, his fearful and uncomfortable blue eyes meeting John's confused ones.

"Ode to John is the songs name. I wrote it." The realization suddenly hit him and he felt instantly guilty for pressing about the song, looking back down at his computer quickly.

"Oh." Was all he could say. So his sentiment earlier had been correct…Sherlock did have feelings for him. Sherlock's eyes didn't leave John's face, studying the other man's expression. He was scared, his heartbeat was accelerated, and his face was turning pink just below his eyes, where Sherlock had come to notice he usually reddened when something he did or said made him happy. Sherlock took all of that as a sign that the feelings were reciprocated and he nervously approached John. Sherlock wasn't much for romance, he wasn't used to it, and he wasn't overly fond of human contact, but he wanted to try this. He would try it for John. What Sherlock didn't realize was that just because the feelings were returned, didn't mean John was ready to accept them.

"John." He reluctantly looked up to find that Sherlock was by his side, bending down and leaning in. John couldn't breathe, his entire body screaming yes while his mind was shouting no. He just sat there, frozen as he felt the soft, tenderness of Sherlock's lips against his. It was only a peck, the kind of sweet, childlike kiss that one normally received as a first kiss in high school. It never occurred to John that to Sherlock, that's exactly what it was. Instead he pulled away quickly and stood up, Sherlock the one who was now confused.

"No, no no! No, this…this cannot happen. Sherlock, I am sorry if I gave you the wrong impression or something, but I am straight, and I don't appreciate…I have to go, I'm sorry. This is wrong." John was babbling, grabbing all the things he could seem to carry and hurrying towards the door. Sherlock didn't stop him, only stood there. The pain in those beautiful eyes hurt John, when he looked back, and all he could muster up was a tearful "I'm so sorry" before slamming the door behind him.

"Goodbye, John." 


	2. Milk, John!

An entire year passed before Sherlock heard so much as another peep from John Watson. Sherlock didn't consider himself a sentimental man, but he hadn't had the heart to so much as touch John's room, which was exactly how he'd left it, and something within the detectives heart told him they would meet again one day. Sherlock never got another flat-mate, nor another friend. Sherlock also didn't take as many cases, though he did of course still do them. Mrs. Hudson had been his only companion, just like the pre-John days. Only difference was that now Sherlock knew what it was like to have John, and that made post-John life miserable.

John was pretty miserable too, though he supposed it was his own fault. He missed Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson, Baker Street…that stupid little thing Sherlock liked to do with the sheet…everything. Walking out on Sherlock Holmes had turned out to be the biggest regret of his life.

John was now married and living in central London, his wife, Mary the absolute bane of his existence. He thought he had loved Mary when he'd proposed but he hadn't, he really had only ever loved one person, and that was evident now. However, as he was sitting in the nursery, rocking his newborn son, he knew things could never again be the way they were. John had ruined everything.

"Do you know, son, why I called you Hamish?" He asked, looking down lovingly at the small, blonde haired, blue-eyed baby. Hamish wriggled in his arms and John let out a gentle, fatherly laugh.

"It was because Sherlock fancied it, my middle name. He seemed to like how frustrated it made me when he…" John trailed off, choking up a bit and pulling Hamish up on his shoulder.

"Oh, little one. Daddy messed up, alright. My entire life you're the only thing I've ever done right." He kissed his baby on the head and laid him down in his crib for the night.

"If I can fix it though, I will. Then maybe you can meet him…your uncle Sherlock." John closed the door to the nursery with a sigh, knowing full well that 'Uncle Sherlock' wasn't exactly the way he really pictured it.

"Mary, darling, I'm going out for a bit." He called, not bothering to look for her or wait for an answer as he grabbed his car keys.

"It's late, John, where could you possibly be going?" John ignored her, walking out the door quickly and climbing into his mini. He knew himself and Mary would likely fight when he returned home, but he didn't care, when were they not fighting? If it wasn't for Hamish, John would have left a long time ago. He needed to see Sherlock, to make things right. Even if Sherlock was no longer interested, and after so long he probably wasn't, he needed his best friend back.

John knocked three times on the familiar door to their old apartment, praying harder than he'd ever prayed that Sherlock still lived there. He was about to turn around and leave when he heard his favorite voice groan 'go away!'. John smirked and pulled out his old key, walking into the flat and staring longingly at the bundle on their couch. Sherlock was naked, wrapped in the very sheet John had been thinking about earlier that day and hanging upside down, playing with his phone.

"Some things never change, eh, Sherlock?" Sherlock was startled, sliding off of the couch and into the floor, his sheet coming completely undone. Sherlock's nakedness was nothing John hadn't seen before and he approached his friend eagerly, offering him a hand. Sherlock took it and allowed John to pull him up, though his eyes were filled with distrust.

"Why are you here?" That stung a little and John winced, avoiding Sherlock's gaze, but then what he was faced with while looking down forced him to turn scarlet and look back up quickly.

"I-I um, can we talk about that after you put some clothes on?" Sherlock silently picked up his sheet and wrapped himself up, not making any attempt at going to get regular clothes.

"I…see. Well, I'm here to see you. To apologize. Sherlock, I am so sorry for the way I acted the night you…the night we…when we kissed. I just wanted you to know that you didn't do anything wrong, it was entirely me. I over-reacted." Sherlock seemed to think carefully before replying, and John was sure he was analyzing his every word.

"You were right too. I over stepped some boundaries." John shook his head, hoping his eyes were enough to assure Sherlock of the one thing he always swore the opposite of, that he was gay.

"But you didn't, that's the problem. The reason I reacted the way I did…" John couldn't finish that sentence, his heart pounding in his ears. Lucky for him, one almost never needed to finish sentences when with Sherlock, he always knew what you were thinking.

"The reason you reacted that way wasn't because you are straight, it's because you're gay. I figured as much. That's why I didn't stop you from leaving. It isn't anyone's place to force that out of another person. Not even when you…" He stopped abruptly, deciding it best not to finish that sentence.

"I did expect you to come back sooner, though. When you didn't you almost had me believing I had deducted wrong." He said instead, looking anxiously around the flat. John laughed.

"You never deduct wrong, Sherlock." A ghost of a smile crossed the taller man's lips, though it disappeared as quickly as it came and he walked to the kettle on the stove.

"Tea?" John nodded and sat down on the couch, feeling all but out of place.

"Yes, tea would be lovely, thank you." Sherlock made two cups and sat down beside John, handing his to him and giving him a once over.

"I've had to fend for myself since you left, you're tea was always better than mine." John grinned and attempted to slide his hand into Sherlock's, only to have his hand gently pushed away.

"You don't feel that way for me anymore, do you? I'm too late." It was less a question and more a statement, and the dejected sound in his friend's voice opened a lot of semi-healed wounds for Sherlock.

"Don't play that game with me John Watson. I think you've forgotten just who exactly I am. I've known from the second you walked through that door that you've been married for at least six months, to a woman no less, and you wreak of baby. I also know that you do seem to care for me and that your marriage is an unhappy one but for god sakes John you're a father, start acting like one." John was a little hurt by the absolute lack of emotion in Sherlock's voice as he nonchalantly sipped his tea as if none of this was a big deal, but then he reminded himself that if nothing else, Sherlock was a brilliant actor.

"I love you." As soon as those words flew out of John's mouth Sherlock's entire demeanor changed. His lifeless eyes filled with a wounded expression, and his muscles stiffened, sitting his cup of tea down and refusing to look at his counterpart.

"I think you should leave, John." Being the stubborn man that he was, John stood up and forced Sherlock to look him in the eyes.

"No. After all we've been through I refuse to take that as an answer. I want to solve crimes with you again, I…want to leave Mary, and I want to be with you, honest I do." Sherlock was trying so hard, he didn't want to be angry with John, not after missing him for so long.

"John, please…" Watson wasn't listening, rambling on about the life he thought the two of them could potentially have.

"…and I want you to meet my son, his name is Hamish…" Sherlock heard the child's name and had instantly had enough, picking up his cup and throwing it against the wall, watching it shatter into a million pieces.

"I asked you to leave!" He shouted, tears springing to his gorgeous sea blue eyes as John took a deep breath, attempting to recover from the tea cup that just barely missed his head.

"No." It came out shaky and unsure, but John's eyes were ablaze with defiance and a deeply rooted need to make Sherlock understand how much he cared. Sherlock gracefully stalked towards John, unsure of what he was about to do, and John, despite how much Sherlock towered over him, puffed out his chest and stood his ground. They stared at each other rather intensely for several moments, breathing heavily and their eyes falling closed as they seemed to crash into one another. Sherlock wrapped his hands around John's waist and John's fingers wove into Sherlock's dark curls, their bodies pressing together as John opened his mouth to Sherlock. Sherlock had never been kissed like this before, since this was only his second kiss ever, but he followed John's lead and allowed the other man to invade his mouth with his tongue. John pushed them forcefully into the wall and Sherlock let out a moan, gasping for air as John trailed off to begin kissing down Sherlock's neck.

"Well goodness! Glad to see the little domestic you two were having is finally over." Said the voice of Mrs. Hudson, who was now standing in their doorway. John yelped and quickly pulled away from Sherlock, who was blushing all the way down to his toes.

"U-Um Mrs. Hudson I….we…" Sherlock stammered, gingerly touching his lips, a small but very genuine smile on his face. John noticed and broke into a loving chuckle, looking at the floor as to not make eye contact with their land lady.

"Well there is no need to be shy, you've been married as long as I've known you." John opened his mouth to correct her but then shut it again, knowing it would do no good.

"I was simply coming down to tell you I received a call for John from some woman named Mary. Do you want to take it?" John shook his head.

"Tell her I'm indisposed of." Mrs. Hudson had to stifle a giggle but winked at the boys, closing the door behind her. Both John and Sherlock erupted with embarrassed laughter, finally beginning to feel like their old selves again.

"I'm still angry with you John." Sherlock reminded him, though his face was lit with a half-smile. John smirked.

"Nothing I can't hopefully make up to you, right?" Sherlock pretended to think it through, placing his fingers under his chin like he always did when he was concentrating.

"Well you could always murder another mad cabbie for me John, that warmed my heart." John snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Oh…Sherlock. My Sherlock." John stood on his tiptoes and brought Sherlock's head down a little with his hand, kissing him on the forehead.

"You could also leave that little twat you married if you really wanted to get back in my good graces." Sherlock added teasingly, earning a scoff from John in mock-hurt.

"Hey now, she isn't a twat!" Sherlock's eyebrows rose playfully.

"She is if she married you." John couldn't help the shit-eating grin that consumed his features.

"Don't pretend like you don't wish you were her." Sherlock tilted his head to the side and stared John down, one eyebrow raised in an I-really-can't-believe-you-had-the-balls-to-say-that sort of way.

"Too soon?" Sherlock closed his eyes and folded his arms, the expression never leaving his face.

"Go buy milk, John." John looked at him incredulously, baffled by the odd request given the situation.

"Sorry?" Sherlock's lips twitched, fighting a smile.

"I'm angry and we are out of milk. Go buy some." John shook his head, wondering why he was even shocked anymore.

"We're always out of milk, you drink it more than a damned infant. I would know, I have one." Even as he said it John was unconsciously doing as Sherlock asked, reclaiming his keys and coat and heading for the door. It was mind boggling to him how easily they could fall back into the old swing of things. Apparently John was taking too long.

"Milk, John!" John just rolled his eyes and flipped Sherlock a bird, though they both new neither of them were truly angered. After Watson had left, Sherlock sighed and looked down at his sheet clad body. He was pleased John hadn't seemed to notice, due to the way he was holding said sheet, that something on the lower-half of him had been standing up since that kiss.

"Note to self…" He said aloud.

"Ask Mycroft what his hypothesis is on this fascinating side-effect."


	3. A Study in Red

_John I'm bored. –SH _

_Joooohn. –SH_

_Will you answer me if I pretend to be in danger? –SH _

_Help I'm in danger John! Moriarty and…things. –SH_

_John. –SH _

_Oh what the bloody hell do you want?! It's 3:00 AM! –JW _

_I'm bored, John, we discussed this. –SH _

John growled and tried to ignore the pinging of his phone, pulling his pillow over his head and attempting to go back to sleep.

_I'm not wearing my sheet John, does that entice you? –SH _

_Not wearing pants either. –SH _

_…__sometimes I feel like you aren't attracted to me. –SH _

"John if you don't turn that ruddy contraption off I am throwing it away!" Mary sneered, elbowing him for about the eleventh time that night. John wanted to snap at her, but was too sleepy for another row and picked up his cell to cut it off….until he read those last messages.

_Careful Sherlock. Mary is being particularly undesirable and if you push me too hard I might have to sneak out and make you wish you weren't so exposed. –JW _

Sherlock, who was sitting cross-legged on the couch, fully clothed despite his text, became a little excited at this. Sherlock was of course, being Sherlock, one hundred and twenty percent a virgin, but he had decided after a long talk with Mycroft regarding the little incident with the sheet a few weeks ago that if it were going to happen to him at all, he wanted it to happen with John.

_That was filthy John, do you kiss your mother with that mouth? –SH _

_That depends, are you my mother? –JW _

_And you say I'm disturbed. –SH _

John had to fight the urge to laugh out loud at this, knowing Mary was on the verge of a breakdown. He sent one of the emoji's with the kiss face and the heart and quickly typed back.

_I have to sleep now, we're making Mary angry. I love you. –JW _

_Prove it. –SH _

"That does it. Who the hell are you texting that is so important?!" Mary yelled, sitting up in bed and turning on the bedside lamp.

"Hush, you'll wake Hamish!" John scolded quietly, holding his phone just out of Mary's reach, who was desperately trying to take it from him.

"Were you texting Sherlock? Be honest with me." John rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I was texting Sherlock, but I hardly see why that matters." Mary's eyes narrowed into slits and she once again made a lunge for his phone.

"You know I don't like you two spending so much time together! His relationship with you is not healthy!" This pissed John off, who slid out of the bed and fumbled around for his shoes.

"My relationship with my best friend is none of your business." He barely had his other shoe on before Mary was at his side, yelling in his ear.

"Do not make me compete with Sherlock, John! I won't be like the others, I won't do it!" The cry of a baby was suddenly heard down the hall way and John shot Mary a nasty look.

"Now you've done it, Mary, mother of the year, you are!" He grabbed a blanket and marched angrily to Hamish's room, bundling the baby up and taking him out to the car. Mary followed him outside and beat on the window as he revved the engine.

"What do you think you're doing?! This is kidnapping John!" She screamed, only sparking more anger in her husband as he backed out of the drive way.

"It's not kidnapping if he's my kid!" He shouted, taking off down the highway and trying to sooth the wailing baby in the back seat.

"It'll be okay, son. I'm taking you somewhere safer than the den of that old witch." He put on some Ed Sheeran in an effort to ebb his baby's cries and drove to his and Sherlock's flat in silence. He had never regretted marrying that woman more than he did right then. She never let him alone that one. Sherlock knew immediately who it was when there was a knock on the door, and he had already taken the liberty of removing his clothes, under the assumption that John had been unable to resist his attempt at sexting.

"Sherlock I'm going to kill―where the hell are your clothes?! I thought you were joking!" He asked in surprise, shielding little Hamish's eyes.

"Well I was at first but as the conversation went on I was under the impression that you were not." Sherlock stated awkwardly, looking down at the floor.

"Well, Mary woke Hamish up screaming at me for texting you…and then I decided to come over…I can't get him to go back to sleep." Sherlock extended his arms silently and John reluctantly handed the child over to him, figuring it wasn't like Hamish was old enough to be aware that his father's best friend was naked. Sherlock looked down at the little baby almost lovingly, which caught John off-guard.

"Like a space-age food pod made of magic, and dreams. I'm a happy man because I have you on my team…" Sherlock was murmuring this gently as he bounced Hamish in his arms and John almost wanted to cry.

"You actually listened to that stupid 'I love you like a burrito' song I sent you on your birthday…" Sherlock only smiled.

"No…" He lied, though the song did seem to be calming the little lad in his arms.

"Yes, yes you did. Enough times to have it memorized." This made John unexplainably happy, having just assumed that Sherlock dismissed the large majority of the things he did to try and make him happy. Sherlock would of course never admit to the joy he'd had when he received the birthday email from John. Yeah it was stupid, but Sherlock had cherished it anyway. It wasn't long before the child was gently snoring in Sherlock's arms, who smirked in victory.

"Shall we put him to bed? I don't have a cot, but I can stuff a bunch of soft blankets into the card board box from the DVD player in my room, turn it in to a sort of bassinet?" John nodded and went to go get the blankets from off the end of Sherlock's bed.

After making sure it was all soft and cushiony, they laid Hamish to sleep and watched him for a little bit, making sure he would be comfortable.

"He's nice, John. Looks a great deal like you." John chuckled quietly.

"Glad you approve." They caught each other's gazes, each subconsciously inching closer to one another. Sherlock was the first to make a move, capturing John's lips unashamedly and gently pulling at his hair. John backed him up against the bed and pushed him onto his back and into the soft duvet, climbing on top of the taller male. John, who was used to this sort of thing, ground into Sherlock roughly, who had to bite his lip hard in order to not reawaken Hamish. Judging from the way his body was reacting realization suddenly donned on John.

"Sherlock are you a…?" Sherlock nodded, unable to look John in the eyes.

"Quite possibly." John couldn't describe how adorable he found that to be, kissing Sherlock gently on the tip of his nose.

"Are you sure you want to do this then?" Sherlock sighed and gave a shrug of his shoulders, a small smile tugging at the corners of his bruised lips.

"Might as well try it, John, if I don't like it with you I won't like it at all." John laughed and nipped at Sherlock's neck.

"You're so stupid." He sucked hard on the porcelain flesh, Sherlock shuddering hard and fumbling with the hem of John's sweater, attempting to pull it over his head. It got a little stuck, but that was okay, Sherlock taking the opportunity to kiss down John's surprisingly muscled torso. John wiggled free from the jumper and slid down, coming face to face with Sherlock's erection. He placed soft kisses on it at first, wanting to take things slow for his lover, knowing this was a big deal for him. He locked eyes with Sherlock, as if asking for permission before he delicately enveloped his penis with his mouth. Sherlock fisted his bed sheets, an unfamiliar warmth spreading throughout his veins.

"J-John!" The deep moan that rang out from Sherlock went straight to John's lower regions, undoing his trousers quickly and yanking his pants down with them. Sherlock let out a small whimper of protest as John stopped and stuck two fingers in front of his face. Sherlock was of course confused, staring at his partner curiously.

"What are you doing, John?" John, who was becoming increasingly frustrated as his need for Sherlock grew, rolled his eyes.

"You're pretty dense for a detective sometimes you know?" Though he said it with utmost affection, and Sherlock knew that.

"Suck them." The bright amused smile that lit Sherlock's face was almost enough to push John over the edge then and there.

"For what purpose? Do you have a finger fetish, John?" John bent his head down, a bout of thunderous laughter erupting from his chest, nearly poking himself in the eye with Sherlock's massive package.

"Just do it, you'll see." Sherlock sucked the fingers into his mouth, making a thoughtful face as he tasted traces of left over jam from breakfast that morning. He sucked them for a few good moments before spitting them out forcefully, startling his smaller counterpart.

"Have you not washed your hands since this morning?" John sighed, trying so hard not to laugh again.

"They are clean, Sherlock. I don't even want to know why you asked." John placed his newly lubricated fingers at Sherlock's entrance, reaching with his other hand to thread his fingers with Sherlock's comfortingly.

"This may hurt." Sherlock stilled as he felt the intrusion, and John gently rubbed the inside of the taller one's thigh in comfort. After a little while he inserted the second finger, and then the third, moving and stretching them inside of his companion.

"Ah…ow." Sherlock winced, not sure he was going to enjoy this whole sex thing after all. John pulled his fingers out and spit on his penis, slicking it up good before lining it up with Sherlock's hole.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, John that's disgusting! I can't…you can't….just where do you think you're….no!" John shot Sherlock a look.

"I have to do it that way, Sherlock, I haven't got any lube and if we do it dry I could hurt you. Now quit being a drama queen, unless you just don't want to do this, which is perfectly fine, I just need to know." There was an element of fear in Sherlock's eyes that was surprising to John, though of course the detective would never admit it out loud.

"Do it. Please, I…I want you to do it." He sounded as if he was trying to convince himself more so than John, but the doctor slowly eased in anyway, earning a painful groan from the other man. John kept very still, waiting for Sherlock's breathing to return to normal before he began to move. He stole a fierce, forceful kiss, an attempt at distracting his friend as he gradually picked up his pace. Sherlock moaned into John's mouth, wrapping his ridiculously long legs around him.

"Oh my god you swallow me." John laughed, tearing away from Sherlock's lips to leave a trail of hickies down his pale, lithe torso.

"Ugh…that's what she said." They both laughed, Sherlock taking the opportunity to softly nuzzle into John's neck, not expecting this to ever happen again.

"John?" Sherlock whispered, rocking his hips into John as the pain finally subsided. John's eyes rolled into the back of his head, the extra friction Sherlock's own thrusts were providing reducing him to a quivering pool of ecstasy.

"Mmm, yes?" Sherlock pulled John to where he was laying on top of him, Sherlock now doing most of the work, and held him tightly against his chest.

"I know how much it blinds ones judgment, and I know it's an emotion I've condemned in the past…but John I…you make my cardiovascular system swell with emotion." John snorted and ground hard into Sherlock, an orgasm building up in his groin.

"U-Ugh, you could just say I love you, you know." Sherlock's mind was swimming, his body was clenching and seizing up in the best way imaginable and his every sense was flooded with pleasure.

"Oh, oh, I….FUCK, JOHN, I…YES!" He screamed this with his arm in his mouth, biting down hard on it as to not awaken the sleeping baby still in the corner of the room. Both of their orgasms peaked and John's seed exploded inside of the detective, his own coating thick and hot all over John's chest. John pulled out and just sort of lay there, enjoying the warmth of Sherlock's body beneath his. He mulled Sherlock's reply over in his head, running his fingers through his obsidian curls.

"That's good enough for me." He whispered lovingly, kissing him chastely on the lips and threading their fingers together. There was a gentle wail now coming from the little makeshift bassinet and John rested his forehead against Sherlock's in a sigh.

"Sorry if I woke him." Sherlock apologized sheepishly, avoiding his partner's gaze.

"No you were pretty quiet for your first time. Baby's just do this, give me a second." John slid off of Sherlock and fetched a towel from the bathroom, cleaning himself up before picking up the sleepy child.

"There there, Hamish. Go back to sleep." Sherlock rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his elbow, gazing at the man he loved while he cuddled the small creation he so desperately wished was his.

"You should tell him you love him like a burrito. Works like a charm." John rolled his eyes.

"No, I think he just likes you." John admitted, looking at Sherlock flirtatiously from under his eyelashes.

"A bit like his father, that one." Sherlock teased, however the playfulness in his eyes faded into an almost sad look and John's eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"You okay?" Sherlock didn't say anything, but he didn't have too. John knew that look all too well, it was the look he gave him when he felt left out.

"You want me to leave her don't you? Leave Mary?" Sherlock looked uncomfortable, reaching out for Hamish, who was still crying. John handed the baby to his companion, and he instantly quieted at the sound of Sherlock's voice.

"That's not up to me, John. Are you happy with his woman?" John shook his head.

"No." Sherlock almost smiled, cradling Hamish closer to his chest.

"And what about here, were you happy here with me?" John was quiet for a bit, becoming a little sad that he even had to ask him that.

"Of course I was." John's voice cracked and Sherlock looked up in surprise, watching the crystal blue eyes he adored so fill with tears. Sherlock motioned for John to come sit with him on the bed, taking his hand and squeezing it softly.

"Then why not?" John looked from Sherlock's hopeful face to their intertwined fingers and then at his baby, who seemed to love Sherlock as much as he did. The three of them being together like that, that's what felt right, not raising Hamish in an unhappy home.

"Okay." John instantly knew he had made the right choice, Sherlock's face filling with more emotion than John had ever seen there before.

"Really?" John nodded, unable to keep a smile off of his face as his friend grinned and bent down, kissing Hamish gently on the head.

John ended up staying the night, sleeping curled up into Sherlock, who was terrified most of the night, not used to having so many feelings at that consistent of a rate. They woke up to Hamish once again crying his little lungs out, and John let out a small groan.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I know you aren't used to this." He shivered as he felt a sudden lack of warmth, Sherlock not hesitating to get out of bed and retrieve the child.

"Don't be sorry, he just wants to be held." Sherlock climbed back into bed and laid down, Hamish curling up contentedly on his chest. John wrapped his arms around the two of them, kissing the shell of Sherlock's ear.

"You're better with children than I thought you would be." Sherlock didn't say anything, only smiled, and thought to himself that babies were easier to deal with than adult people, their needs were so simple.

Back at Mary and John's place, Mary was pacing back and forth. She hadn't slept a wink all night and was anxiously waiting for her husband to bring their child home. She was pacing around their bedroom, glancing every now and then at the clock.

_Its okay, Mary. _She thought to herself. _It's only ten AM, I'm sure he will be home soon._

She decided to make her and John's bed, distracting herself from the worry that was gnawing away at her. She didn't know where he had gone, but she did know that John was a decent father, and wherever he was that Hamish was safe. Her only major concern was that John may never come back, fear gripping her as she thought of all the times their marriage had been so close to ending in the short time that it existed. She was pulling the covers on John's side of the bed up when she noticed that in his hurry last night, John had left his phone behind.

_Really should have a passcode you silly old thing. _She thought, easily accessing his text messages to find out who and why he had been texting the previous night. Her mouth fell ajar, hands trembling, as particular words caught her eyes.

_Sheet, entice, pants, attracted, exposed, filthy, kiss…love._ Her hand cupped her mouth as she held in a cry, particularly hurt about the bit where John had called her undesirable. In a rage, she through her husband's phone against the bedroom wall, sinking to the floor and gasping for air as sobs ripped through her chest.

John and Sherlock were still lying in bed when Mary arrived at 221B Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson came cheerily to the door of the building, her bright smile wavering as she took notice of the distraught woman in her jammies gripping a mobile phone as if it were her life-line.

"I demand to see John Watson this instant." She spat, not allowing poor old Mrs. Hudson the time to warn the boys before she nearly plowed her down and kicked open the door to their flat. John and Sherlock were both awake, but had not moved, both watching over Hamish, who was still on Sherlock's chest. Sherlock was gently petting the baby's soft little face absentmindedly as he and John talked about a case Sherlock had recently taken.

"You ought to join me, John, it gets lonesome solving murders all by myself. It's not like Lestrade is going to appreciate the joy it all gives me and quietly, sarcastically chastise me for it. I miss that." John chuckled and buried his face tenderly into Sherlock's hair, only looking up when he felt the body beside him tense.

"Mary…" He muttered, shooting an alarmed look at the absolutely annoyed Sherlock.

"Yes, John, me, you know, you're wife. Or have you forgotten that, considering the amount of bloody filthy text messages you've been sending to your so called best friend! I put up with a lot, John, but this…this is sick." The malice in her voice made John blanch, and he reached for his pants, getting out of bed to face her.

"This isn't what it looks like, I can explain…" Sherlock, unable to bite his tongue, decided to pipe up.

"Tell her, John. Tell your lying, secretive, disillusioned, and frankly, freakishly cat obsessed wife exactly what it is that is going on here. I would like to know myself." His tone was clipped, and John couldn't tell if he was angry about Mary being there or angry that John hadn't come right out with it. Mary put her hands on her hips.

"Yes, do tell, why you were laying naked in bed with another man who is HOLDING OUR SON!" She shouted, Sherlock soothing away the jolt that seemed to half-awaken little Hamish.

"You really have no regard for the little life form you created, do you?" Sherlock quipped, earning a death glare from Mary and a sigh of resignation from John.

"Mary, I…darling, look at me." John took her face in his hands, attempting to be as gentle about this as possible. His life with her might not have been great, but he really didn't want to hurt her. Unfortunately for him, this didn't come across well to the other person in the room, who got out of bed almost emotionlessly and began to dress.

"Good luck, Hamish. You're going to need it." Sherlock handed the infant to John and stormed out of the room, the door to the apartment slamming behind him hard.

"Sherlock, no, wait!" John cried out desperately, though he knew he couldn't hear him. John turned to run out after him but Mary grabbed him by the arm.

"And just where do you think you're going?!" John's big ocean pools were full of pity, and he wished with all his heart he could have loved her half has much as she deserved.

"I'm so, so sorry. I don't love you…I don't think I ever did." That was all he said as he left her there, running out into the street in nothing but a red pair of pants, hoping Sherlock hadn't already hailed a taxi.

"People are definitely going to talk."


	4. The Surprise

Sherlock didn't come home for about a week, and refused to answer John's phone calls, which had never happened before. John was, however, not as worried as one would expect him to be since he'd been given a heads up from Mycroft that his brother was currently living with/annoying the hell out of Lestrade. John used this time to try and get his ducks in a row before attempting to explain everything to Sherlock. John wanted to prove how big of a misunderstanding everything had been, and most of all, he wanted to be with Sherlock, and not in a friendly sense.

Mrs. Hudson, bless her, had spent the entire week helping John move back into 221B, putting his stuff in Sherlock's room and turning John's old room into a nursery. John's plan was absolutely to surprise Sherlock, and hopefully it would break the ice and prove to him that he'd over-reacted the other morning. John kissed Hamish and handed him to Mrs. Hudson, looking around the flat happily.

"I think Sherlock is going to be pleased. Just one thing to do now, will you babysit my son for a bit?" Mrs. Hudson smiled and pinched his chubby little cheeks.

"Of course dearie, he is so precious!" John thanked her and grabbed a stack of legal files, running excitedly out to his car. Today was the day, the day he filed for divorce and custody of Hamish. John wasn't so sure he could win a custody battle against Mary, especially since he was going to be listing Sherlock Holmes as a secondary parent, but he was going to fight with all his might and knew Sherlock would support him.

Meanwhile, Sherlock was growing very bored. Annoying Lestrade had only been fun the first couple of days, and now he was about ready to explode.

"God your stupid little lives are all so dull." Sherlock griped, sprawled about on the floor of Lastrade's office. There hadn't been any exciting or challenging cases and as much as he hated to admit it, he missed John terribly.

"Then why don't you go home? We've been begging you to all week!" Greg snapped, earning an amen from both Anderson and Donovan. Sherlock closed his eyes, attempting to go to his mind palace, though that was impossible with all the people in the room. Besides, all he saw when he closed his eyes was John. Maybe he had reacted rashly, but how else was he supposed to feel with John behaving so sweetly towards that…that…and there it was. Right there was why Sherlock had always pushed away emotion; emotion was painful, especially for people like him, people loved by none.

"Except for one. Except for John. He loves me." Sherlock whispered aloud, earning an odd look from Lestrade. Sherlock sat up very suddenly, deciding he needed to see him.

"The freak is talking to himself." Donovan complained, to which Sherlock simply smiled bitterly at. He was actually thankful for her comment, which only reaffirmed his epiphany. John was the only person in the world that could and did love him, and he couldn't throw it away over something as petty as John's marriage to Mary Morstan. It was a problem, but one he could solve, and he practically ran outside to catch a cab ride home.

John got home first, grinning to himself as he pulled out a grocery bag. He had stopped at the store on his way back from the courthouse, picking up a small sample of blue paint and a card. He wanted the moment when he told Sherlock the news to be special, and this required a bit of creativity. Mrs. Hudson held Hamish very still while John dipped his tiny hands into the blue paint and pressed them softly into the inside of the card.

"I don't allow cats, you know." Mrs. Hudson said with a gesture to the fat tabby John had brought with him after he'd officially moved out of Mary's house, as he wrote in the card.

"Mrs. Norris? Aw c'mon, out of all the cats living with Mary and I when we were together that one was my favorite. Even Hamish loves that cat, don't you son?" Of course Hamish only kicked his little feet at the sound of his father's voice, as that was all he could do, but it seemed to pull on Mrs. Hudson's heart strings nonetheless.

"Oh…alright. But if this, Mrs. Norris, as you call her, damages anything in this flat you'll be paying for it." She tried to sound stern, but she and John both knew she had completely folded. It was about this time that the door swung open, Sherlock rushing in with a look of pure loneliness in his eyes.

"John…" John turned to look at his friend, who stared at the cat curiously as it rubbed up against one of his legs.

"When did we get a feline companion? While cats are superior to dogs I rather prefer hedgehogs…"John just shook his head, his eyes dripping with affection.

"You're an idiot, Sherlock." Sherlock immediately rushed towards him, their lips colliding and their tongues dancing. Sherlock sighed and cupped John's cheek, questions etched deeply into his ever-curious expression.

"What are you doing back here?" John nuzzled into Sherlock's hand and smiled very gently, snaking his other arm around the detective's waist.

"I live here. Hamish and I moved in shortly after you left. He took my old bedroom." Sherlock looked as if he'd just been struck.

"Does that mean…? What am I talking about, of course it does, you wouldn't be standing here if it didn't." He rambled, a bright, contangeous smile lighting up his face as he excitedly assembled his long fingers under his chin. John almost shyly handed him the card, once more seeming to catch Sherlock off guard.

"I filed for divorce today." He explained as he nervously watched his lover read. Sherlock's expression changed so many times throughout the course of reading the card that his impending reaction made John extremely anxious. He gingerly touched the little handprints embedded in the parchment and his eyes welled with tears.

"You want me to be his other father?" John nodded, studying Sherlock's expression and praying the other male wasn't made uncomfortable by this.

"John I…I don't…do you really think it wise to raise a child with me? I'm not exactly role-model material and people…people think I'm―" John cut him off.

"I don't care what people think." Sherlock shot him a look, though he was still holding the card as if it were made of gold.

"Yes you do." John shook his head and laid his hand on Sherlock's arm, squeezing it gently.

"I admit to caring a great deal about whether or not people thought I was gay for a long time, but anytime I've cared what people thought of you, was because it pissed me off when people couldn't see how magnificent you are. Donovan warned me, the night I moved in with you, that you were a psychopath. Sherlock, ignoring her and finding out who you really were is the greatest choice I've ever made. And on top of that, you're wonderful with Hamish, he likes you more than he likes me." John admitted with a laugh, his breath hitching in the back of his throat as Sherlock leaned in to give him a sweet kiss, much like the first one they ever shared. He was unable to verbally give John an answer, he just couldn't, so he gave a nod of his head and a thousand watt smile. It was understood. John pulled Sherlock into a tight hug.

"Thank you." It was Sherlock's turn to shake his head.

"No, thank you, John." They just sort of awkwardly stood there for a bit, staring intensely at each other before Sherlock's phone rang.

"I'm busy, bother someone else." Sherlock said immediately as he answered it, earning a scolding look from John. Sherlock's mood immediately crashed as he heard the voice that rang out on the other end of the line.

"Is that any way to talk to an old friend, Mr. Holmes?" Sherlock had to bite his tongue lest he swear in front of the child that was officially kind of his.

"I'm hanging up now, Mycroft." There was a sigh on the other end.

"I knew I should have phoned John instead. He's nicer to me." Sherlock wasn't amused.

"Yeah, you should have." Sherlock hung the phone up and reached for Hamish, who squeaked happily in Mrs. Hudson's arms.

"I want to hold my step-son." Mrs. Hudson gladly handed the baby over and John grinned as wide as a Cheshire-cat.

"We kind of have to be married for him to have that title." Sherlock only winked and it furthered the smile on his companions face, until his phone began ringing as well.

"Don't answer that, John." Sherlock demanded, earning a roll of the eyes from Watson.

"Oh hush, I could tell by the way you were on the phone that it was your brother." John muttered as he pressed accept and held the phone up to his ear.

"Mycroft?" Sherlock tried to ignore the conversation, giving his attention to Hamish, who was tangling his tiny little fingers in one of his curls. Sherlock couldn't understand what it was about this particular child, but it hadn't taken long at all for him to become completely and utterly attatched.

"You should keep a better leash on my brother, Dr. Watson, I thought you'd taught him better manners." John sighed into the receiver and plopped down in his chair in aggravation.

"He's my boyfriend not my dog." John mumbled this mostly to himself, but both Mycroft and Sherlock heard him loud and clear. Both men softly uttered 'what?' at the same time, and it was only then that John realized his mistake. He and Sherlock both blushed, and Mycroft was just down-right dumbfounded.

"Well…nice of you to finally admit it. I guess I knew it would happen sooner or later, though I largely expected it to be later. Congratulations." John didn't reply, his eyes fixed on Sherlock, who had resumed their earlier session of eye-sex.

"Well anyway, I need the two of you to get in the taxi I've sent to your flat. Please don't ask why, just do it. All will be explained in due time." John didn't want too, but he didn't figure he had much of a choice, knowing Mycroft.

"Is it safe to bring the baby?" There was a long silence, John suddenly realizing that Mycroft had no earthly idea about his and Mary's baby and what he obviously must be thinking. There was a click, Mycroft having hung up on him to call his brother back. Sherlock's ears were nearly blown out when he answered, having all sorts of questions screamed at him. Instead of explaining, Sherlock decided to just play it out, figuring Mycroft would put the pieces together eventually.

"I didn't know I had to inform you of when I decide to make offspring." John put his head in his hands.

"Sherlock…" Sherlock just smirked and hung the phone up, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at his counterpart.

"Looks like we have to go to Mycroft's. Plenty safe for our love child, he assured me." John groaned, getting up from his chair and smacking Sherlock lovingly.

"You're such a dick."


	5. Mycroft's Mystery

The cab ride to Mycroft's was a struggle, especially since John was having a hard time installing Hamish's car-seat and the driver was becoming impatient. Sherlock walked silently to the other side of the taxi, grabbing the seatbelt out of John's hands and quickly pulling it through the belt guides and fastening it securely.

"It's not rocket science, John." He muttered, earning a glare from the young father. After making sure his baby was in safely, John closed Hamish's car door and went to Sherlock's side of the car, forcing him to slide over.

"I've fastened more car-seats in my life time than you ever have, thank you, so I don't want to hear it." Sherlock snorted.

"Clearly. That's why you seem to be incapable of installing the simplest of carriers in the backseat of a car without a base." He noted dryly, taking no notice of the foul expression that crossed his lovers face. They rode in silence for a long while, Sherlock every now and then leaning over and making sure Hamish's little head wasn't being shaken up too much as they went over bumps and pot-holes. Sherlock hadn't noticed that he'd made John angry, as he was simply being himself, and saw no wrong in casually slipping his hand into his companions. John sighed, knowing all too well that his friend wasn't being a jerk on purpose, and leaned his head on his shoulder.

"You don't have to watch over him like that." John said softly, sinking even more comfortably into his boyfriend's side.

"I'll always watch over him." It sounded as if Sherlock were talking more to Hamish than to John, but John smiled anyway. Sherlock was unaccustomed to John being openly affectionate, and even more unaccustomed to feeling an intense need to protect a child. But if he was being honest, he didn't hate it.

…

There was a deep sense of unease in the air as the cab pulled into a darkened parking lot. The couple had kind of fallen into their own thoughts, jumping harshly as the annoyed cabbie blew his horn.

"You can get out now." John and Sherlock weren't the only two who seemed violently forced from their minds, Hamish flinching and whimpering loudly.

"Don't worry, Hamish, I will notify your uncle that the driver is NOT to be paid!" He shouted, his voice returning to more of a mumble as he snapped his head quickly to look from the cabbie back to John.

"It's hard to find good help these days…and Mycroft bloody well better have me a case or I am shooting his dog―come now, John, speed it up, we haven't all day and my legs are too long for this." Sherlock's long winded rambling went largely unnoticed (John was more than used to it) as John slid out of the car and held the door for Sherlock, who took Hamish from his car-seat with ease.

"Mycroft said it was safe to bring the baby?" John asked anxiously, shutting the door and walking forward a few steps.

"So he claims." Sherlock held Hamish to him tightly, just in case, and took John's hand. They walked through a set of large glass doors and to a lift, taking it up to the 25th floor. John kept his hand that wasn't entwined with Sherlock's ready on his gun, the eerie atmosphere putting him on edge. John had killed for Sherlock before, and with Hamish potentially in danger as well, he wouldn't hesitate to do it again. John stepped in front of Sherlock when the lift opened, kicking the door open and aiming the gun at the first person he saw.

"You can both stop being mother hens, you know. When I said this place was safe, I meant it." John lowered his weapon and let out a sigh of relief when he laid eyes upon Mycroft, whom was sitting at a mahogany desk amongst loads of paperwork.

"He's a bit paranoid that one, was it the war or did being with you make him that way?" Mycroft asked sardonically, earning a smile from Sherlock that didn't quite meet his eyes.

"Tell me what we're doing here, Mycroft." The elder Holmes brother shrugged, a small smile on his lips.

"How about you explain that little bundle over there first, hmm? Why didn't I receive a happy announcement? He's my nephew you know." John opened his mouth to respond but shut it again as there was a sudden bang heard and an 'ouch!' rang out from under Mycroft's desk. Something of a smirk twitched at the corners of Sherlock's lips and he cocked his head to the side in amusement.

"Seems like we deserve a happy announcement of our own, wouldn't you say so, John? Who is under the table, and don't play games with me, you know you won't win." Mycroft folded his hands together and reclined back lazily in his chair.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Sherlock didn't respond, analyzing his brother's face and the clutter all around the office space. Mycroft's blood pressure was up, lips bruised, it had been a slow day and all the work on the desk was obviously a front, there were remnants of cake crumbs on his tie and his coffee was sitting a little too close to the edge of the desk. That wasn't all Sherlock could deduce but it was enough and he knocked into the desk hard, the coffee spilling all into the floor.

"Shit!" A far too familiar face popped out from under the table, in pain and more embarrassed than either Sherlock or John had ever seen. Lestrade buttoned up his shirt quickly and shot a panicked look towards his lover.

"How the hell are you even here?! Weren't you just at the station…" John's mouth would have hit the floor if it were able, a horrified, and frankly judgey look filling his eyes. Lestrade tried to answer him but was cut off by a vicious glare from Mycroft.

"Keep your mouth shut, Gregory." Sherlock didn't seem surprised, seemingly having and intellectual conversation with his brother silently while John tried his hardest to process this.

"Wait…you….and you? Mycroft Holmes…kisses people? Dates….people?" Lestrade donned a suggestive expression.

"Bloody well good at it too." He immediately regretted opening his mouth however, as Mycroft's head snapped toward him, a venomous look engraved in his face.

"And are you just okay with this?" John asked Sherlock incredulously, who rolled his eyes in reply.

"Of course, John, I've known about it for years, though they tried their best to hide it. I don't know what Mycroft expected, honestly. Never thought I'd catch them in the act though, you're getting sloppy Mycroft." Mycroft didn't answer, but he didn't have to, Sherlock wasn't done. The detective neared his brother's desk, narrowing his eyes and leaning on the end of it with one arm.

"I'm done playing games. You're wearing clothes that are just business enough to say 'I'm important' but not fancy enough to qualify for official government business, and from the amount of time you seem to have on your hands I'm assuming you're job has been just as slow recently as mine has, which brings me to my next point, Mycroft, crime never sleeps. So do please enlighten me as to why everything is so god damn boring? Well I'll tell you why, calm before the storm, and you know that. Something big is about to happen, and the government knows it, you know it, I know it, so can we please all just cut to the chase and stop waiting around here like stupid, dull, and unimportant sods equivalent to the detectives in Lestrade's division? Tell me what you know!" Lestrade began to retort but a gentle look from John urged him not too. Mycroft sighed heavily, a certain nervousness suddenly about him.

"There is a body in Miss Hooper's morgue that you're going to want to see. I had Gregory transfer it to that hospital earlier this morning. I think the case will interest you." Lestrade nodded in agreement, deciding to interject.

"The hospitals address had been carved into the John-Doe's arm. It was almost as if the killer wanted it to be sent there. We can't fathom why." Sherlock smiled down at Hamish and then shot a sly look at John, who was grinning back at him.

"Are we interested, Dr. Watson?" John reached for Sherlock's hand once more.

"I think we are."

…

John wasn't so sure, however, when they reached the hospitals morgue, about bringing Hamish inside. Something about bringing an innocent young child into a place of decay didn't feel right to him.

"Sherlock, is it alright if Hamish and I just stay outside? I don't think we should bring him in there." Sherlock didn't understand, having no real sense of sensitivity when it came to the dead, or in this case bringing a child near the dead.

"Why? They're just corpses…and Molly will want to see him. I've observed that women are particularly fond of babies, in the majority of cases. High levels of Oxytocin in the brain cause this sort of maternal instinct among females, and considering Molly has always struck me as an affectionate person I can confidently say she is not short of this chemical." John fought the urge to laugh at his partner, putting his face in his hand that wasn't holding Hamish.

"Oh good lord, Sherlock. You're serious aren't you?" He asked, unable to help the goofy smile on his face. Sherlock smiled and opened the door to Molly's lab, gesturing with his head for John to go inside.

"Dead." John laughed, walking into the morgue with Sherlock on his tail. Molly wasn't paying any attention, seemingly working pretty hard with some sort of autopsy report, and jumped when the detective addressed her by name.

"O-Oh, Sherlock, I'm sorry! I suppose I should have been expecting you, Lestrade told me Mycroft thought you should be assigned to this case. I don't think even Lestrade trusts his detectives sometimes, not with cases like these." There was a rosy blush tenting Molly's features as she spoke, such innocent love in her eyes as she gave Sherlock a once over. Sherlock paid no mind to her, callously beginning to open the metal slabs in the walls in search of the victim.

"Where is he? The one with the carvings?" Molly turned a deeper scarlet, pointing to the chamber to the left of the one he currently had open. He grinned brightly at her.

"I was close!" He clapped his hands together excitedly and pulled the other chamber opened. While Sherlock was going his thing, Molly's eyes wandered over to John, who was absentmindedly rocking Hamish.

"I didn't know you had a baby, John, how wonderful! May I hold him?" She asked happily, extending her arms out. John nodded and handed Hamish to her.

"Of course!" John was pleased that Molly wanted to hold Hamish, it gave him free arms to go over and help Sherlock, who was looking at him expectedly. John gave the body a quick examination before giving Sherlock what he wanted.

"Time of death was approximately 48 hours ago, cause was asphyxiation, there are lacerations on the neck consistent to that of chain links. What do you make of this?" John pointed to the carving, not on his forearm, but one across his chest. In big bloody letters it read 'From Daddy' and there was an arrow pointing upward.

"Well obviously the arrow is indicating that the killer intended for us to pay attention to the facial region of the victim's body, and considering this man's mouth has been sewn shut I believe we are meant to open it up. I'm going to need some surgical scissors, please, John." John dutifully went to Molly's desk and rummaged around a bit, pillaging in some draws for a bit before finding what he was looking for.

"What's his name?" He heard Molly say as he handed the scissors to Sherlock.

"Hamish. Hamish Sherlock Watson." Both Sherlock and Molly turned to face John at the same time, uttering 'excuse me' simultaneously.

"You never…you never told me you named him after me." John tried to hide the flirtatious smile threatening to break onto his face, feeling it unethical to flirt over a dead body.

"Yeah well…just because I was with Mary, doesn't mean that you weren't always Hamish's other parent. At least to me." Sherlock stared at him for a few good moments, John breaking eye contact to look just about anywhere else, kicking himself for admitting something so cheesy and stupid. Sherlock grabbed John by his coat and pulled him over the body and towards his face, crushing their lips together. The kiss was brief and only lasted a few seconds, put the emotion behind it was huge, and it left John a little light headed.

"Right…so um….the stitches." Sherlock shook his head in amusement, child-like happiness radiating off of him.

"Right, John. Of course." Molly, however, didn't seem to be taking the kiss too well, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. She supposed she'd been a fool to not see what was going on from the beginning…the relationship between those two.

"What a lovely name." She whispered, forcing a smile in their direction. John's eyes immediately filled with guilt as what he'd just done dawned on him.

"Oh, Molly…" She shook her head no and let out a strained laugh, walking over and kissing them both on the forehead.

"I am so happy for the both of you." Sherlock pecked Molly on the cheek in thanks, still not fully grasping the emotion it truly was that his friend was feeling. He turned back to his work without another thought and clipped the victim's stitches easily. John wanted to say something to make Molly feel better, but he couldn't fathom what in the world could console someone who was in love with a man that was his. His attention however was quickly turned to Sherlock, who was pulling something out of the John-Doe's mouth. It was a balled up piece of paper, damp, but not in danger of crumbling since it had been allowed some chance to dry during the time the man had been dead.

"Does it say anything?" John asked once he found his voice, a little anxious as Sherlock, of all people, looked a little perplexed.

"To Lory. That's all it says…" The paper smelled rancid, especially as Sherlock unballed it completely and Molly gagged loudly.

"You alright?" John asked, placing a concerned hand on the small of her back. She only shot him a bittersweet, yet kind, smile and stifled a dry heave.

"I'm fine I just…do you have any aspirin, please?" John shook his head no, walking back over to the desk where he had found the surgical scissors.

"No, but I saw some in your belongings over here. Catch." He threw her a bottle and reached out for his son, whom she gave back a little reluctantly. John checked his watch, noticing that it was getting pretty late, and Hamish needed to be fed.

"Are we done here, Sherlock? We need to put the baby to bed." Sherlock nodded and shut the body back into the wall.

"We'll be back once we've had some time to reflect." Sherlock said this, but he didn't really mean it. He knew that pathetic man's whole life story at first glance, and he knew how ordinary it had been. The answer to how and why this man died didn't lie with his body, this was much more complex than that, but he couldn't test any of his theories until morning.

When they arrived back to their home at 221 B, Hamish became a little cranky. Sherlock wasn't used to having a baby be so inconsolable, so he was a little distressed by the situation. The detective knew, however, that it was because the little one was tired and hungry, noticing that the clock read 8:30 PM.

"I think the bottle should come first John, he isn't happy." John shook his head no, grabbing the formula down from one of their kitchen cabinets.

"If he eats he will fall asleep and believe me, you think he is upset now, he will show you upset if you let him go to sleep only to wake him for his bath. I made that mistake the first week of his life and I will not make it again. Go bathe him right fast and I will have a nice warm bottle waiting on him when you get back, okay?" Sherlock wasn't so sure about this, he'd never tried to bathe a baby before but he nodded anyway.

It was a little difficult for Sherlock to pick up the baby bath one armed, but he managed. He stuck it in the big bath tub and filled it with water and bubbles, making sure the water was only luke-warm and wouldn't burn Hamish's precious skin. Sherlock unbuttoned the little blue onsee the child was in and then carefully, if not awkwardly, removed the child's diaper. This was definitely not Sherlock's thing, even if he pretended around John that it was. Sherlock loved Hamish, but he had never been around children before, and this was hard for him. He cooed to the child in an attempt at soothing him (granted the mere sound of his voice usually worked wonders on Hamish) and lifted him up to put him into the baby bath, unprepared for what exactly was about to happen.

Hamish, like many baby boys before him, peed seconds after his diaper was removed. He peed, and it got all over the very unsuspecting Sherlock, who accidently lost his grip on the small child. Thankfully, Sherlock hadn't been holding Hamish too far up and he had a short distance to fall, water and bubbles splashing all over the already wet detective and Hamish beginning to wail. You would have thought Sherlock's life was absolutely over. He grabbed Hamish up out of the bath immediately and held the soaked and slippery baby up on his shoulder tightly.

"Oh my god, Hamish….I am so sorry, please be okay." Sherlock ran his fingers all along the back of his head, checking for bumps and inspecting the baby's soft spot. He sighed in relief when he didn't find anything, rubbing some shampoo into Hamish's hair and rinsing the baby in his lap.

John had mixed the bottle and heated it under the faucet, feeling a bit guilty for leaving Sherlock with Hamish, whom he could hear screaming from the bathroom.

"Sherlock? Are you two alright in there?" When there wasn't an answer be became a little worried, walking into the bathroom with the bottle. It was there that he found Sherlock, soaked in water and with bubbles in his hair, and Hamish wrapped in his bumble-bee bath towel, which Sherlock had wrapped him in because he was cold.

"I'm sorry John…he…urinated on me…and I dropped him, but it was an accident I swear and he didn't fall far….I just wish I could have caught him. I washed him in the floor so the bathroom is kind of flooded, sorry about that too." Sherlock's eyes were filled with tears and he looked so terrified that John couldn't just couldn't help himself.

"You dropped my son?" Sherlock laid his chin atop Hamish's head and sighed heavily.

"I really didn't mean too John, I'm not used to this sort of responsibility…and I checked him for bumps and bruises, he's fine I promise, just a little cross with me I'm sure." Sherlock kept on babbling and John finally let out the chuckle he had been holding in, walking carefully through the mess and kissing the top of Sherlock's head.

"Oh shut up, Sherlock, it's alright. It's not the worst thing that's happened to Hamish, rolled off the bed when he was three days old. Calm down, alright? Give him here, I'll feed him, you get washed up and go fetch his jammies, okay?" Sherlock still looked kind of helpless but he nodded and handed the baby to John.

John, Sherlock, and Hamish all three curled up in Sherlock's bed, Hamish laying in John's arms while he ate. Sherlock had his long arms wrapped around them both and John was leaning into his chest.

"I'm so bad at this, John." Sherlock whispered, earning another soft laugh from his mate.

"No you aren't. We both have our strengths and weaknesses…just now we know your weakness is most definitely bath time." They both laughed for a while, watching lovingly as Hamish finished the last of his milk and began to drift off.

"Should we put him to bed?" Sherlock shook his head.

"No, he's had a particularly bad night, I think he's earned sleeping with us." John snorted.

"You really feel bad, don't you?" Sherlock kissed John warmly in response and then kissed the side of Hamish's face.

"Good night, John."


	6. Anagram Anamoly

**Author's note: this will not be my only usage of anagrams…keep your eyes peeled ;)**

The next morning was a particularly dull one for the residence of Baker Street. Hamish was happily laying on a play matt on the floor watching the colors that flashed above him while John made breakfast and Sherlock lounged about on the couch. Sherlock was trying very hard to concentrate, rubbing the three nicotine patches on his arm gingerly. John shook his head to himself as he flipped the pancakes he was making.

"Three patch problem?" Sherlock sighed and wiggled his fingers, which were, of course, planted firmly under his chin.

"Precisely." John fetched some jam and butter to lay out on the breakfast table and raised a curious eyebrow at his boyfriend.

"It bothers you doesn't it, the case where the man's mouth was sewn together?" Sherlock sat up, watching as John went back to the stove to check on the bacon.

"It doesn't make sense! This man was completely and utterly normal, lots of friends, decent job, bachelor, had a dog, the whole nine yards, nothing out of the ordinary at all! This man had a decent relationship with his father too, and with his girlfriend's parents and family….so 'From Daddy' doesn't really make a lot of sense. All this tells us is that the killer is a father and he has a daughter named Lory who must either work at the hospital or is a patient there. Really narrows it down doesn't it?" John thought about it for a moment as he reached for some plates in their kitchen cabinets.

"Well, how about we get Lestrade to issue us a warrant so we can access the personnel files at the hospital and do a mass search for any workers and or patients named Lory and then begin our investigation from there?" Sherlock shot an incredibly bored and tiresome look at John.

"Way to go Captain John, never would have thought of that!" He drawled sarcastically, rolling his moss colored eyes.

"The issue here, is connecting this man to the killer and the killer's daughter. This kind of crime suggests that he did this for his little girl, but what vendetta would he have, could either one of them possibly have had on this maddeningly boring subject….unless he was living a life unseen by my eyes somehow which is very unlikely, I didn't detect anything secretive." It was John's turn to roll his eyes, turning the stove off and putting two plates of food out on the table.

"I believe the phrase you were looking for was Captain Obvious." Sherlock let out an exasperated groan and flopped back down, earning an amused chuckle from the other man.

"Oh quit being a drama queen and come eat your breakfast." Sherlock wasn't hungry, never was, but wasn't going to just not eat something John had actually attempted to cook, so he got up grudgingly and picked up Hamish from the floor. Sherlock didn't bother with the high-chair, feeling the child was not only too young for it, but it also reminded him too much of a prison for some reason, so he opted for holding Hamish in one arm and eating with the other, John taking a seat right beside them. Hamish was pretty lively today, having become about a month and a half old officially, and was making his first cooing sounds at Sherlock. Sherlock smiled and reached with his finger for some of the jam he had just put on his pancake.

"Is this what you want? Hmm?" The baby cooed again, happier this time as Sherlock stuck his finger in the child's mouth. This went on for a minute or two before John finally noticed and his eyes widened in alarm.

"Sherlock you cannot feed him that yet! We don't know if he's allergic!" Hamish was gently swatting his little hands at Sherlock's arm and making little begging noises, which was turning Sherlock to absolute mush as much as he would hate to admit it.

"He likes it. If he were allergic we would know by now, look at him, he's fine." John let out a sigh and leaned in to kiss Sherlock's neck softly.

"Careful, Sherlock. You're emotions are showing." John teased, a loving smile gracing his features as he watched Sherlock bury his face in Hamish's little tufts of blonde hair in an attempt at hiding his smug expression.

"Speaking of Hamish, court begins December 9th, for custody. Hopefully it won't be a long battle and we'll get at least joint custody, but until then Mary is requesting she spend some time with Hamish. Won't stop calling." Sherlock seemed to stiffen at the mention of her name. He knew Mary was a part of Hamish's life, but that didn't mean he had to be happy about it.

"No." He pouted, finishing off his pancake and picking up his bacon, which Hamish whined for. John chuckled.

"See what you started? He isn't going to understand why he can't have solids." Sherlock kissed the top of the baby's head possessively.

"It's okay, Hamish." He used his index finger to scoop up a lot of left over jam and butter from the plate and let the small child suck on it for a bit. John reached out and tenderly ran his fingers through Sherlock's curls.

"She's his mother." He reminded him, much to the detective's dismay. Sherlock shook his head.

"He's ours." It killed John to hear those two vulnerable little words escape Sherlock's lips, knowing how hard expression was for him. Hamish brought out a sort of humanity in Sherlock that not even John had ever seen before. John pulled Sherlock into a tender kiss, nibbling on his lips as their tongues explored one another.

"I know, but we at least have to share him until December 9th. Who knows, maybe we will be awarded full custody." John highly doubted it, but he said it anyway, not wanting to crush the little emotion that Sherlock was actually willing to display.

"I'm going to take a shower, John, take Hamish. We're heading to the hospital to check the records."

…..

Getting Lestrade to clear a warrant wasn't easy, because by law Sherlock and John would have had to have been on the police force to acquire one, working a case for them or not. And so, Sherlock made the same decision he had made and gotten in trouble for on numerous occasions; he stole Mycroft's ID. They were of course guaranteed access to anything in the hospital with that, and Sherlock was feeling pretty confident when the couple walked up to the receptionist and flashed the ID. She pulled up the patient and employee files simultaneously and gave Sherlock the password, a cocky smile twitching at the corner of Sherlock's lips.

"Quit showing off and do your job." John whispered playfully, rolling his eyes as Sherlock popped his coat collar.

"Fine." Sherlock searched the entire database for any and all persons on the premises sporting the name 'Lory'. There was only one hit, and she worked in the labor and delivery wing of the hospital.

"Dr. Lory Faeth Clemmsford. She's only worked here a few weeks, isn't from around here…she's American, here on a work visa." John's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"And she brought her dad with her? Who happens to be a murderer?" Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and grabbed John's hand.

"That's what we're here to find out." They had to go up to the fifth floor of the hospital to the correct wing, peaking in the offices and delivery rooms. They were looking for a blonde, taller than John but shorter than Sherlock, with brown eyes and thick rimmed glasses. It didn't take too long to find her, luckily for them she wasn't with a patient. Dr. Clemmsford was flirting with a male nurse over by the waiting room, and from the looks of it neither one of them were in much of a hurry.

"Dr. Lory Clemmsford? Is it alright if we have a word with you?" The doctor looked annoyed but she shooed the young nurse away, turning to the couple with a look of great disdain.

"Look, I don't deal with the little runts after they're born." She chided, gesturing towards Hamish. Sherlock stepped in front of John and the baby, a protective glint in his eyes.

"That isn't why we're here. Where were you the night of November 30th?" Dr. Clemmsford folded her arms across her chest.

"Who wants to know?" She and Sherlock narrowed their eyes at one another, a rude comment about to topple out of the detective's mouth when John decided to intervene.

"The government, Doctor, now tell us what we want to know before we bring you in for obstruction of justice." The blonde woman sighed, adjusting her glasses on her face and looking at her hands.

"I was here, right here. Working." Sherlock didn't miss a beat.

"And your father? What was he doing? You know, you don't really need to tell me. I know that you are untrustworthy and are likely to lie straight to my face, especially since you love your father, that much is clear, as it is also clear that you're insecure and have raging mommy issues that daddy keeps promising to fix, more than likely in an illegal fashion. You're a binge drinker, and even if you were going to tell me the truth I still can't trust your word, and therefore I may as well have not bothered you at all, but I have to do that, it's my job. Be expecting a visit, I _will _speak with your father." Dr. Clemmsford shot a bewildered look at John, whose expression was a mix between amusement and suspicion.

"It's also his job to be a professional dick." Sherlock tried to glare at John, but he couldn't keep a smug grin from breaking out across his face. Dr. Clemmsford began snidely retorting at Sherlock, though he wasn't listening, his phone was ringing. Sherlock noticed that it was from Mycroft, and he motioned for John to follow him as he walked away from the doctor, who was still shouting abuse at him.

"Mycroft, make sure a Mr. Clemmsford, American man living with a Dr. Clemmsford, does not vacate his house in the next few days. We can't have him running off, John and I need to see him, prime suspect." He jabbered immediately into the receiver, not waiting to see why his brother had called.

"Well unless this Mr. Clemmsford happens to not have an alibi for about ten minutes ago he isn't our man. Lestrade just called, another body was found, very fresh, same MO. You need to meet him at the scene immediately, 396 Harewood Row." Sherlock and John were on the lift and heading towards the hospital exit faster than Mycroft could say murder.

"On our way."

….

The crime scene looked absolutely awful. There was blood everywhere, a lot more blood than either man was anticipating. This victim was a woman, however, she wasn't quite as ordinary as the male victim. The Jane-Doe was lying in a pool of her own blood, shirt torn off, with deep fresh carvings in her skin.

"You see that, Hamish? This woman was what we call a prostitute, you can tell by her clothing and the amount of trashy cosmetics smeared all over her. And those marks over there, they are lacerations, we found those on the other victim as well…it means she was choked to death. Do you want to know how I know she's so interesting, though? This lady has a white mark on the third finger of her left hand, suggesting she was married and either A, took the ring off to do her job, or B it was taken by the killer. Assuming, due to the nature of her job, that it is the first of the two, this means there is likely children involved, two can be indicated from her stress lines and the amount of times the epidermis on her abdomen appears to have been stretched, and we just so happen to be looking for a father killing for his daughter. This woman is old enough to have two grown children and I can tell you right now she didn't have good relationships with them. You know, your father is often times impressed by all this but it's really just simple observations, and I think I could easily teach you if you wanted, I can tell that you're going to be smart, Hamish, don't you ever let anyone tell you differently." Sherlock was moving about the scene quickly, having a very animated conversation with the baby in his arms as he showed him everything he could possibly point out to him.

"Sherlock…." John scolded lovingly, putting his head in his hands, but smiling as he did so. He didn't want to admit to how cute he found it all, especially not with Lestrade's investigators looking at them like they were sick.

"Ask Anderson for a knife, John, I'm sure he has one, and get started sawing those stitches apart." John went to fetch the item while Sherlock tried to make sense of the carvings on this one's body, which slightly differed from the last victim. Instead of 'From Daddy' it read 'From a Friend' and the address carved into the arm (which ran into her wrist, which is why she bled out) wasn't the hospitals….it was 221B. John quickly snipped the stitching away and pulled out the note inside.

"You hurt my Lory…bad move. Wanna save the next victim? Here's your hint: Misha Whesson Lockhart. Tick-Tock, Sherlock." He read aloud, alarmed eyes searching his partners face for answers.

"He's been watching us…what do you think this name means?" John handed the paper to Sherlock in exchange for Hamish, and the detective rolled his eyes.

"Well it's an anagram, obviously. Isn't like he would just give us an actual name." John watched intently as Sherlock closed his eyes, knowing he was in his Mind Palace. Sherlock could see the letters rearranging several times over in his head, reading over and analyzing every possibility. His blood ran cold at the name that was staring back at him, opening his eyes and staring at John.

"What is it?" Sherlock looked on the verge of tears, John's heart speeding up to an improbable rate.

"I change my mind. I think Hamish needs to stay with his mother for a little while." John's expression twisted in to one of terror and he shook his head.

"No…Sherlock…tell me it doesn't spell Hamish's name." Sherlock's non-existent reply was all the conformation Watson needed. He looked down and gave Hamish a kiss on the forehead before nodding toward Sherlock.

"You're right. I'll call her tonight, it'll be okay." Sherlock sighed and reached out to gently pet the side of the baby's face.

"Your father is right. We'll make it safe for you again, we'll catch him, and then you can come home." Sherlock took quick notice of the look in John's eyes as he spoke, cocking his head to the side curiously.

"What?" John just shrugged, a tender smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"You just surprise me, constantly." They both leaned in and shared a quick kiss before returning home and grudgingly preparing Hamish for a long trip to Mary's.


	7. Scary Mary

**Author's Note: I have decided to play a little game with you all. The hospital that I'm going to be using in some upcoming chapters is called Wydethcourt Memorial Hospital…if you figure out the anagram properly (all three words are part of it), it will give you a hint to a future event in the story! Good luck!**

A few weeks passed, and each second that ticked by without Hamish was a second that ate away at both John and Sherlock. While John was often away fighting court battles with his soon to be ex-spouse, Sherlock was working as diligently as possible to solve the case so that when they won (which he whole-heartedly believed they would), they could safely bring Hamish home.

Sherlock had an entire suspect web up on one of the walls in their flat, though he was incredibly frustrated that all of his clues ended up taking him back to square one. Sherlock knew that there was a father killer with a daughter named Lory, and that the body was specifically sent to Wydethcourt Memorial. However, the only Lory currently on the premises was Dr. Clemmsford, and that lead ran cold. Sherlock had had Mycroft speak with government officials in the United States, and according to their records there was no one from that country recorded with that name, nor the name of her supposed father.

To Sherlock, this meant that Dr. Clemmsford was probably a spy for someone, considering her entire life story was a lie. However, there was no way for him to legally get information out of her until Mycroft was done proving her guilty of fraudulent identity. What Sherlock knew he had to do was figure out who she _really _was, but without any further leads there was no way of doing that either. This issue also poked another hole in the detective's investigation, if Dr. Clemmsford's real name wasn't Lory, did she even fit this case at all? On one hand, the killer could be purposefully using his daughter's fake name as to not give her away, but on the other, her alias could be a complete and total coincidence.

Sherlock was running a search on any and every Lory in England when John walked through the door, back from another long day of court and looking absolutely drained.

"Any news?" Sherlock asked, not bothering to look up from his web of possible deductions. John sighed and plopped down in his chair, head in hands.

"It wasn't looking good for us at the beginning. Mary was arguing that Hamish would be unsafe with us, not only because of the nature of our work but because…well, you're you." An extremely bitter look crossed Sherlock's face, looking away from his work and staring at John, who looked near tears.

"She also said it wasn't right, raising a child with more than one dad." That was all Sherlock really needed to hear, standing up quickly and picking up his revolver. John didn't bother to protest, watching wearily as his lover shot the smiley face that was already blasted into the wall. He shot the gun until it was out of bullets and then threw it, his body trembling with pent up rage. John got up and wrapped his arms around the taller man, holding him tightly against him.

"It's alright. Bless her, Mrs. Hudson testified on our behalf. She showed pictures of you and Hamish and talked about how wonderful you were with him. We both also pointed out that having a child with our job is no different than a cop raising a kid, and also with our combined salaries we make more than Mary and could better provide for our son. I then took the liberty of pointing out that not allowing us custody due to our sexual orientation would be classified as a hate crime and that we would sue the court." A ghost of a smile graced Sherlock's face and he pecked John on the lips.

"Did it help, do you think?" Watson smiled and gave a small nod, Sherlock letting out breath he hadn't been aware he was holding.

"I think so, yeah. Toward the end of the session it almost seemed like they were going to rule in our favor, but we won't know the verdict until next week." He paused for a moment before taking notice of what Sherlock had been doing when he'd arrived home.

"What about you? Any breakthrough in the case?" Sherlock rolled his eyes and let out a long groan.

"No. There are five hundred Lory's in England, over half of which are too old to have living fathers and the rest living too far away for any relevant connections to this case. I'm going with my original theory about Dr. Clemmsford, I just think that her father is protecting her by concealing her true identity. In this scenario we are no longer looking for a Lory, but trying to figure out the good doctor's true identity. From there, we can track down her father." John sighed and scratched the back of his head, about to tell Sherlock he was confused when he noticed the amount of nicotine patches on his boyfriend's forearm.

"Sherlock Holmes are those _five _patches? Are you trying to kill yourself?!" He scolded, ripping a few of them off. Sherlock pouted and crossed his arms, an amused expression crossing Watson's face.

"Nobody likes a drama queen." The detective chose to ignore that statement and placing his long fingers under his chin.

"Grab your coat, John. We're going to visit the victim's families to collect more data. I'll figure this out if it's the last thing I do." John did as he was told, but playfully chided Sherlock as he did so.

"Only if you remove all those bloody patches, I'm not going out with you like that." Sherlock said no immediately, but rethought his answer at the look he received from his counterpart. John was wearing his no-sex-unless-you-do-as-I-say face, which Sherlock had learned about pretty early on in their courtship. He pouted again as he peeled the other patches off and fetched his scarf, a triumphant grin breaking out across John's lips.

The couple stalled only after opening their door, which had a bright blue piece of paper attached to it. The paper hadn't been there when John had come home from court, so it hadn't been there long, but there was no one else in the lobby of their building and Mrs. Hudson hadn't told them they had company. Strange as this was, Sherlock read the note aloud.

"My, my, Sherlock.

Aren't you smarter than this?

Read between the lines.

Yours truly.

-M"

Sherlock's brow creased as he thought about what this could mean, shooting a curious look at John. John simply shrugged his shoulders in reply and Sherlock folded the note up, shoving it into his coat and popping his collar.

"We'll worry about it when we get back."

While Sherlock and John were doing this, Mycroft was doing something a little more interesting. Today was Lestrade's day off, and Mycroft had been up to his elbows recently in legal work with everything Sherlock had been making him do, hardly taking notice to this change in his lovers schedule. That was, of course, until Lestrade made it his personal business to make sure Mycroft noticed. When the government official walked into his office that morning, there was a card on his desk baring a suggestive picture of the detective on the front. Mycroft rolled his eyes, almost frightened to read what may be lurking on the inside.

_Mycroft,_

_Not sure you're aware, but I am finally off for a day or two. Now I don't know about you, but I'm up for a couple of days of play if you know what I mean. I know you can take off, you've worked more overtime than anyone I know. Meet me at my place immediately. _

_Missing you,_

_Greg_

The corners of Mycroft's lips twitched up into a hint of a smile, sticking the provocative note into his coat pocket. He still had tons of work to do, but he and Lestrade hadn't had a proper date in a long time, and Mycroft wanted to do something romantic for his lover. He opened an email, looking around cautiously before typing in the address.

_To: lestradeg286 _

_Subject: You naughty boy_

_I have much to do well into the afternoon, however, I have decided to take off at around five PM and take you someplace special. I will pick you up, be ready. Expect to be out all hours of the night, when I go on a date I make sure it's exceptional….especially when I've found someone like you. _

_Most Sincerely,_

_Mycroft_

_p.s. I may or may not require you do redo the photo on the front of your letter…in my room tonight. Just be weary of that, dearest Gregory._

Mycroft sent the email and victoriously glanced around his desk, reaching for his phone and making reservations for one of the most expensive five star restaurants in London. His plan was simple, take Lestrade to dinner at The Delaunay on 55 Aldwych, only a fifteen minute drive from Baker Street, where he needed to stop by briefly to have a word with his brother, and then head out another ten minutes to Shakespeare's Globe Theatre and take Lestrade to see _The Changeling_. Mycroft knew Lestrade had never been to an actual play like that before, and he was willing to pay the extra fifty pounds for premium seats.

Lestrade was more than excited when he received his boyfriends email, and when five o'clock rolled around, he made sure he was dressed to the nines. He had been on dates with Mycroft many times in the five years the couple had been dating, and he knew that when Mycroft said 'someplace special' it meant someplace where you may as well be ingesting gold because you're likely to leave broke. More than that though, Lestrade had something special of his own planned, unbeknown to his consort. Mycroft couldn't help but lick his lips when Lestrade opened his door upon his knocking. The detective inspector was wearing a dark suit with a red bowtie, his salt and pepper hair slicked back in a manner that shouted James Bond.

"Don't you look handsome." Mycroft stated in a pleased tone, his calculating grey eyes seeming to drink the inspector in. Lestrade only smiled in response, pulling Mycroft in by his tuxedo coat and planting a gentle kiss upon his lips.

"So do you." Mycroft offered Lestrade his arm and the two walked out to the limozine that was now parked outside of Lestade's flat. The stop at Baker Street took all of two seconds, since John and Sherlock weren't there, and they headed quickly on to the restaurant to claim their reservation. Mycroft had asked for the private dining room in the back, and even though it was normally only reserved for large business parties, Mycroft knew the right bribe amounts to get his way in most situations. They ordered Champaign and took menus from the waitress, who shut the door behind her and left them alone to decide.

"Are you sure this is okay? Everything on the menu is insanely expensive." Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"Oh hush, Gregory, you say that every time we go anywhere. I think if you knew just how much money I make a year you'd be less inclined to worry about it." Lestrade didn't say much back, terribly nervous about the events that were about to transpire. He had given something to the waitress to bring out with the Champaign, and the anticipation was just about killing him. As they both decided to order Lobster and folded their menus down, Lestrade decided to try and begin a conversation to break the ice.

"You know, I've been thinking a lot, Mycroft…about us. We've been dating for a little over five years now, and I hope you know how much I love you." This seemed to catch Mycroft off guard a little bit, having always been very cautious with the 'L' word.

"I do. I do you as well." Lestrade knew it was his roundabout way of saying I love you too, so he smiled, and bashfully scratched the back of his head.

"Well, do you love me enough to come out with me?" Mycroft misunderstood what his lover was trying to say, gesturing at the room with his hands.

"Are we not out together now?" Lestrade shook his head, a nervous sweat threatening to break loose.

"No I mean _out _with me, you know….like, do you love me enough to be with me the way Sherlock is with John." Mycroft nearly choked when he realized that Greg meant out of the closet, but he had no time to respond as the waitress walked back in with their beverages. The detective inspector turned beet red and held his breath as he watched Mycroft analyze was floating in his Champaign. They each numbly ordered their meal, tension in the room exploding when she shut the door once more.

"Gregory what is this?" Mycroft asked, fishing the gold ring out of his drink and laying it out on the palm of his hand. Lestrade stood and took the ring from Mycroft, dropping down before him onto one knee.

"Mycroft Alfred Holmes, would you do me the immense honor, of becoming my husband?" Mycroft's entire body appeared to be frozen by some unnamed emotion and his eyes were glazed with what may have been tears. He slowly shook his head and Greg's heart sunk deep down in his chest.

"No." It came out a whisper, but Lestrade heard it loud and clear, choking back both shame, hurt pride, and heartache.

"May I ask why?" Mycroft took a sip of his Champaign and looked down at his hands as the food came out.

"Just eat, please." Now it was Greg's turn to shake his head.

"No, I want to know why. Please, Myc, that's all I want." Lestrade's voice cracked and it hurt Mycroft a lot more than he'd ever care to admit.

"I can't go through it again." Mycroft groaned, not one hundred percent certain that he'd said that out loud.

"Pardon? You never mentioned being married before…" Mycroft shook his head quickly, sighing deeply and shooting sad eyes at his love.

"I never was, but oh did I want to be once. Gregory if I ever made you feel unloved I am truly sorry, because I love you more than I love anyone. Don't you understand, that is why we cannot marry. I couldn't bear it." Lestrade's expression twisted from one of sorrow to one of confusion, and though he didn't ask, Mycroft answered.

"I know it doesn't sound like it makes any sense. But Greg I've only ever loved two people my entire life, you, and one other. That other person and I were very serious, and very young too, which is a terrible combination. We had a child together, quite on accident I admit, and I panicked. It wasn't that I didn't love the baby, but I didn't love the circumstances under which that child was conceived, and my partner turned out to be somebody different than what I originally thought and I…I left. I did what I always do, what is best for me, and now there is a grown child out there somewhere who grew up without a father. I don't regret leaving the other person involved…but that child haunts me, Gregory. Marriage and children are things that forever alter a relationship, be it for good or for bad, and I don't want this to be ruined. Not my relationship with you, I won't allow it." Lestrade reached across the table and took Mycroft's hand, giving it a loving squeeze.

"Mycroft, I understand that feeling a lot more than I think you realize. I threw a lot away to be with you, and I did it happily, because the marriage I put on the line was already in shambles and I felt with you―still fill with you, so much more affection than I did when I was with her. That's why I'm willing to give marriage one more go, I know it wasn't marriage itself that was bad, it was who I was married too. No matter what happens I could never love you any less than I do now, only more. If you don't want to marry me that's okay, I understand. I just needed to know that you not wanting to get married didn't stem from some unhappiness in our relationship." Mycroft seemed to think for a little bit, gently caressing Lestrade's hand with his thumb.

"I accept." He said quietly, a dumbfounded expression crossing the inspector's face.

"Sorry?" Mycroft rolled his eyes but was unable to keep a smile from breaking out onto his face.

"I'll marry you, you idiot." Greg slid the ring onto Mycroft's finger and pulled him into a passionate kiss, which the latter melted into.

Meanwhile, Sherlock was glumly unlocking the door to his and John's flat, his companion dutifully by his side, though equally as filled with dread. The families of the deceased had been of no use whatsoever and they were no closer to solving these murders and getting their son back. Sherlock aggressively flopped down on his and John's couch and grabbed the note that had been on their door.

"By god I will figure this…." Sherlock trailed off and John rose an eyebrow at him as he closed and locked their front door back.

"What is it?" Sherlock grabbed a pen and began furiously marking and underlining things on the note, thrusting it excitedly at his boyfriend when he'd finished.

"Look!"

_M__y, my, Sherlock._

_A__ren't you smarter than this?_

_R__ead between the lines._

_Y__ours truly._

_-M_

"Mary M. It spells out Mary M! Mary Morstan, John!" John shot Sherlock a knowing look and crossed his arms.

"Now Sherlock, are you sure you aren't just trying to villanize my ex-wife? I mean, that's not much proof." Sherlock almost looked insulted, letting out a huff of annoyance.

"It says read between the lines, John, and that's what I did. Now, it may not necessarily mean she's the killer, but it was definitely put there for a reason and that makes her connected. Get my phone, John, hurry. I'm going to call and check on Hamish." John fought the urge to roll his eyes and laugh at the very same time.

"It's in your blimey pocket isn't it?" Sherlock didn't answer, but he didn't have too, his Cheshire-like expression said it all. John reached into the detectives coat pocket and handed him his phone, watching intently as he dialed Mary's number. She answered on the first ring, as if she were about to call him herself.

"We need to talk!" She blurted out immediately, an unexpected sort of fear rising up in Sherlock.

"Yes we do…" There was silence for a moment, and then a hiccup, sounding as if she were sobbing harshly. John could tell instantly by Sherlock's body language that something was very wrong, in all his years working cases with Sherlock he had never seen his hair stand up on end like that and it scared him shitless.

"It's Hamish….he's very sick. I-I'm scared, and I don't know what to do…I don't think he's breathing, and I n-need John." Mary sounded absolutely hysteric and Sherlock promised they were on their way, hanging up and staring at John, pale as a ghost and more nauseas than he'd ever been in his life.

"We've got to go, now!"


End file.
